by Alex Sapegin
“The Sea Monster,” by order of the Grand sea-king Harald the Shaggy jointly with the head of the Orca clan had been patrolling the waters of the Wolf archipelago for three whole weeks now, a quiet shadow gliding among the islands. In the daytime, they hid in the calm inlets; at night, with sudden advances, they darted from one island to another. No one felt like patrolling the sea for Arians. Their sails consistently sparkled on the horizon. The vikings didn’t engage in battle. “Reconnaissance and no skirmishes!” Harald the Shaggy had said.
“I need reliable information about what’s happening in the sunrise,” the sea-king said to the squad. “The gray orcs’ ships are coming to our waters less and less frequently. It used to be that we never got a rest from them! Then we Arians started showing up all the time. Some traveling sea-kings say the orcs are quitting their islands and cities and heading towards midday and sunrise. We need to find out if this is true. The Lynx and Dragon clans have begun fortifying their cities and building new stone fortresses: they must have their reasons. The Great Thing is approaching, and I need to know what to speak about with the chiefs and sea-kings. Don’t leave me in the lurch. If they sink ya, I’ll get you back from the bottom of the sea and twist your heads off!”
They went but would have been better off staying home. There were no more orcs on the Wolf archipelago. The settlements were deserted. And it was a planned desertion. All their belongings were collected, and the barns were empty and clean. They even took the cats with them. All boat houses were destroyed, and not by the orcs. This was clearly the work of the Arians. They had destroyed everything after the foolhardy barn defenders had been beaten. The Arains hadn’t touched the cities and mills; apparently, they were reserving them for themselves.
Once they had witnessed a naval battle between the gray orcs, the Shark and Whale clans, with a dozen Arian drekkars. The “Sea Monster” had been hidden in a narrow, inconspicuous fjord off Wolf’s Head island and the guards had climbed up the cliffs to observe the sea. They had seen orc Vikings, fifteen pennants. It was a threatening force, nine Shark pennants and six Whale, but the orcs weren’t on their own for long. Ten large battle drekkars of Arians appeared from behind a cape. The navies sailed in for the kill. Let the battle begin! Soon the sound of shrill cracks rang out over the ocean. It turned out the Arians’ ships were full of ballistas and catapults, and they opened fire. This was a surprise for both the orcs and the human Vikings who were hiding out, and it was fatal to the orcs. At the very beginning of the conflict, three orc ships were hit in the stern below the waterline and quickly lost their structural integrity and ability to maneuver. The Arians had arranged their navy quite competently, moving the large drekkars with archers’ towers and catapults to the front line. Magical cupolas covered both groups of vessels; the mages and shamans set to work, but hard iron ultimately determined the direction the battle would take. The Arians’ archers literally mowed the orc deckhands down from their towers. The catapults, with their large stone ammunition, took down the masts and blew the sails and sides of the boat full of holes. The light orcs’ vessels did not have such heavy weaponry which lead to their total annihilation. The advantage of long-range nautical artillery over arrows and crossbows was henceforth firmly established. The Arians had not lost a single ship and had taken down five not even allowing the orcs to enter their boarder space. The rest of the orc vessels fled underscoring the advantage of the light ships in terms of speed. Intercepting the orcs who were floundering in the water, soon to drown, (those who were in heavy armor or hadn’t managed to throw off their chain mail sank like rocks), the Arians sailed behind the cove. It was a clean victory. A victory that made the human Vikings think long and hard.
The next day, or rather night, a land party of scouts came back from the eastern part of the island with urgent disturbing news. The Arians had taken Hykygburg. They were building a barricade and a wooden wall around the city. They were building new piers in the port and dredging near the shore to allow for large vessels. All this was going on a large scale, swiftly. A hundred skilled laborers and hundreds more orcs, prisoners, were working on it. Why should they sit idly? So they had been taken captive, forced to work for new masters. The new masters of Hykygburg had shown that they were here on the islands to stay, and you’d better get used to it.
The traveling sea-king Sven Oar asked himself one question: What had prompted the Arians to quit their northern lands and start moving south? They had been in midnight for a thousand years—just got sick of it all the sudden?
Apparently, they had simply forced the orcs off the islands, first smashing onto the marine territory with large groups of vessels, and then had gradually taken the cities, forcing the gray orcs to withdraw. Realizing that it was futile to try to resist, the gray orcs had loaded onto their ships by the tribe and clan and headed southward and east, to the continent, forcing other tribes to relocate further south by fire and the sword.
The traveling sea-king Harald the Shaggy had good reason to be alarmed! What would happen if the Arians decided not to stop there with the orcs but to continue westward? They had to take action urgently! The Dragons and the Lynx had started reacting to this a year ago already.
“Hey, we made it,” Olaf poked Sigurd, who was lost in thought, in the side. It was true. The “Sea Monster” had left the coastal reefs and made its way out into open water.
“Pure water!” Sigurd cried to the crew below.
Traveling sea-king Sven Oar walked up from his quarters onto the deck.
“Lower the sails! Set a course for Dalhomburg!”
One month later. Kion, capital of the kingdom of Tantre. The Palace grounds…
His majesty Gil II of Tantre, also known as Gil the Soft Spoken, was measuring the Red Receiving Chamber with a series of wide strides. Seven steps along the window, ten steps diagonally, eight along the perpendicular wall. The distinguished state advisers, the chancellor, the head of the Secret Chancellery and the Archmage of Tantre (the king’s highest adviser) who had been invited to the discussion carefully watched the nervous king pace. Their eyes, as if tied by strings, followed his majesty’s every move. He had just heard the report of the head of the Secret Chancellery and was now digesting the facts made known thereby.
“Well, gentlemen, what do you say?” he asked the invited cabinet of advisers. “I think that Drang is twisting the facts in his report. It’s not so rosy as he’s trying to make it out to be.”
Drang, the head of the Secret Chancellery, who was also the Duke of Ruma, preferred to remain silent. He had said his piece and drawn his conclusions. He couldn’t add anything to the report.
The king approached the large tapestry hanging on the receiving chamber’s wall and glanced at the map of the continent of Alatar it portrayed. He wobbled back and forth a few times from his heels to the balls of his feet, folded his hands behind his back and turned to the advisers.
“Duke Ruma believes that the map shown on this tapestry can stand some changes, and I’m inclined to believe him. Of course, the report is not comprehensive, and the head of the Secret Chancellery is referencing data that has not been confirmed, but an abundance of sources does give grounds on which to trust him. Pardon me, Duke, your merchant spy yielded the documented fact that the Wolf archipelago in the Northern Sea is now occupied by new masters. The sea-king Harald the Shaggy sent an expedition to the archipelago, and related a certain piece of information to the merchant. Have a look.”
His highness picked up a pointer from the table and ran it over the dark outline of Tantre. The image of the kingdom glowed; mountains, steppes, and woods popped up on it; rivers began to flow. Little dots blinked where cities were located. The magical illusion of the landscape came to life.
“This is Tantre. From the north, we’re bordered by the Dead Desert, the Light Forest, and two mountain ranges: the Rocky Ridge and the Marble Mountains. Then there’s the Kingdom of Meriya, the Dukedom of Taiir, and the Great Principality of Mesaniya, the dwarfs’ kingdom,
and the Mountain principality of the Rauu. What does the situation mean for us? Meriya is weak; King Nemaran is old, and no heir has been determined and in Meriya. Essentially, the king’s elder sons are bickering, and Duke Nag with his eye on the throne is only adding fuel to the fire. The spark of civil war might soon be ignited in Meriya. Therefore, we’ll remove Meriya from the military picture and cross it off the list of potential allies. Then, we have Taiir and Mesaniya. At first glance, everything here seems peachy. Why wouldn’t it? The son of a great prince marries the daughter of a duke. The parents give their children the reigns and, as a result, the kingdom of Mestair is reborn. Hurrah! Long live King Ludwig I of Mestair! I’ll definitely attend the wedding and get a break from looking at your tired mugs. But it’s not as smooth as it seems. There was a fly in the ointment that botched everything up. The duke pushed his half of the country over the edge. He decided to increase his lands at the expense of the dwarfs who gave him a good whooping in response. As a result of this military skirmish, the dwarfs destroyed the duke’s main fortresses. Their victory was truly triumphant. The duke of Taiir essentially committed political suicide and is handing over his ash-strewn lands to a stronger neighbor. Moreover, he owed this neighbor so much, you could buy two dukedoms with it. War is expensive, gentlemen! The outcome? Mestair has no fortresses at mountain passages and crossings! Let’s cross them off the list. The Light Forest and the Forest Lordships. Allies. Oh gods! Save me from such cursed allies. And regarding our enemies, we can deal with them ourselves. So we’ll take the Lordships out of the equation.” His majesty paused.
“The Dead Desert. The local horrors and monsters can scare a hundred or a couple hundred men and in the long-term would probably hound anyone out of the desert, but if a whole army crosses the desert, the monsters will scurry into holes and won’t come out until the last train passes. Let’s cross them off too. What have we got left? The Rauu and the dwarfs are rooted very firmly in their places; there’s no pushing them out. However, HOWEVER! They are rooted in the Marble Mountains. No one in the right mind would dare try to cross those mountains. Add it all up, and the outlook is not encouraging. No one and nothing remains that could possibly defend Tantre from threats from the north. The dwarfs and the Rauu don’t count.”
The king walked up to the serving table and poured himself a glass of wine. He held it up to the sun and examined the color, sniffed it, and took a small sip.
“Exquisite! The Tiron red is always unparalleled. Won’t you join me, gentlemen?” His majesty indicated the bottle of wine and nodded at the advisers approvingly.
When the wine had been poured in everyone’s glass and praised by all, the king continued:
“Let us return to our ‘remains.’ If the Arians leave their islands and lands, they’ll force the gray orcs to move as well: both the island vikings and the continental princes and sea-kings. They, in turn, will press on the gray horde and Shanyu Hygyn, and perhaps join with the Shanyu and try to out the ‘greenies’ with their combined forces. The fleeing ‘greenies’ won’t head east; too mountainous. They’ll head towards Meriya, then they’ll finish the job the dwarfs couldn’t in the dukedom of Taiir. The principality of Mesaniya, that is to say Mestair, may just come out alright. Their fortresses are strong, built for the ages. They crossed the desert four hundred years ago; it wouldn’t be difficult for them to do it again. The long-eared Woodies won’t attack the ‘greenies.’ They’ll hide in the forest, make faces from up in the trees. Remember, with this blow a large influx of refugees will come and this whole mass of people will come here, to us, through the convenient paths from Meriya and Mestair, yes, and even through the desert, through their country. Alright, I’ve finished. What suggestions can you offer?”
A heavy silence fell over the room. They were all contemplating the image the king had described. It was a dark one, and everyone knew it. There was about a seventy percent chance that that’s exactly how things would work out. The Arians had already forced the gray orcs from the Northern Isles, next would come the central archipelagos, and then this whole mass of people, that is of gray orcs living on the central islands would come to the continent. The entire population would migrate. The gray orcs hadn’t built fortresses on their islands; now they would suffer the bitter consequences of their short-term thinking.
Chancellor Garad stood up, the duke of Maar, a friend of the king since childhood. He approached the tapestry, looked at the map of the kingdom carefully, rocked from heel to toe just like the king, and poured himself another glass of wine. He stood there, with the glass in his hand, for ten minutes. His majesty waited patiently.
“Gil, there is an option,” he said. Everyone in the room was very familiar with one another; there was no need to stand on ceremony. “Declare ‘Penkur,’ the forgiveness and repentance ritual.”
“And for whom, pray tell, should we declare forgiveness and repentance?”
“Penkur must be declared for the gray orcs,” the chancellor said, which was met with uncomprehending faces.
The king stood up from the cushioned chair he had sat down in a couple of minutes earlier and walked over to the chancellor.
“Garad, be so kind as to explain your approach. Your thoughts are without doubt brilliant, but I am an earthly king, not a heavenly bird. I cannot understand without a boost.”
Garad crossed in front of the tapestry, pursed his lips, walked up to the king and took the pointer from him.
“Here,” the pointer hit the forest land, then gradually moved to the steppes. “Two hundred leagues to the north of Orten there’s an almost empty space. It goes on for five hundred leagues, almost bordering the Light Forest. There are no cities there; I’m not counting border zones, only small settlements, military outposts and caravanserais. It’s a huge territory and is in no way protected. Our headache and soft underbelly, don’t you agree? Let’s move on. We must populate and arm these lands immediately. So, the question follows: with whom? I suggest we become proactive and invite the northern orcs to these lands. We can summon the vikings to the banks of the Gulf of Terium. These vikings are in fact currently leaving their lands and heading south as a military. Naturally, these gray orcs must swear an oath of fidelity to Tantre and become the king’s subjects, but they may live by their ways. They’ll be eternally in our debt just for the right to live without war. We can kill two birds with one stone. In one move, we create a buffer between the central regions and the Forest Lordships, and soften the blow of the hordes of ‘greenies.’ We find somewhere to put the refugees and protect the main continent. The defending gray orcs will give us the opportunity to prepare to meet the ‘greenies’ with an iron fist.”
“Garad, we’ll meet strong political complications and opposition from the Forest,” His majesty’s first adviser, Sator teg grall Vidur, the Archmage of Tantre, also Baron von Vidur, put a word in. “The elves will appeal to the Orten treaty. It’s possible I may be mistaken, but the treaty proclaims a century-long union and Olli I, after signing it, banished the gray orcs from the country. The elves act as guarantor of the borders of the kingdom of the north. Now you want to invite orcs. Won’t we be starting another war this way?”
“No!” Garad snapped. “The Woodies, according to the treaty, are obligated to cultivate the coppices at the border lands and organize abatises. Tell me where there’s a single coppice or abatis? There aren’t any! In four hundred years, they haven’t planted a single seed to this effect. What were you saying about honoring treaties?” Garad almost screamed. His face became flushed in spots. “The mongrels! They’ve been taking advantage of the defense this treaty offers them for four centuries now, but they haven’t honored their part! Nooo, these Woodies won’t start a war with us. They’ll fear to, and do you know why?” Garad asked and then answered his own question: “We’ll hand over the White cliffs at the border to the Snow Rauu in exchange for the lands that border the dwarf kingdoms and the Marble Mountains. The Rauu have been asking us for a trade for a long time, and we’l
l add one small line to in the exchange treaty. At the very end, in fine print. It will come in handy for Tantre in case of a conflict with the Light Forest! The Rauu and the Forest Lordships are practically at each other’s throats as it is, and here we can just give them an excuse. What do you think? And there’s more. The expression ‘for a century’ is superbly interesting. It implies a period of time lasting a hundred years. I believe it’s time to denounce the Orten treaty as it is technically no longer in force! We have a few more years of leeway, perhaps three, perhaps five, and then the northern boiler will erupt. We must take great care to see that Tantre doesn’t get scalded to death.”
Gil II stood up and walked over to the stained glass window. Through the translucent glass, he could see the park and the blue of the sea. The capital stretch in an almost full circle around the banks of the small Gulf of Kion, which was separated from the Long Sea by a narrow strait only half a mile long. The king leaned his shoulder up against the window and stood there with his hands folded over his chest, pondering the vicissitudes of fate. A deathly silence reigned in the room; no one dared interrupt the monarch’s thoughts.
“We’ll need to conduct a large-scale work on instilling the correct opinion on the question in the people,” he pronounced at last not turning his head. He gazed at the sea. “If the nobles, the cities, and the guilds are not in accord with this move, we may provoke a civil conflict. Then it’s just one step to civil war. The Light Forest would gladly dance on our bones. I don’t want to give them such pleasure. Drang?”
“Yes, your majesty!” the head of the Secret Chancellery sprang to attention. The king had made a decision and now would give orders on how to make it so.
